Inside the Gilded Frame
by spookycc
Summary: Post-ep for Frame. B/A friendshippy :


**Inside the Gilded Frame**

**by spookycc** to my best friend, soul mate and little sister Judyg, for the WHOLE idea beyond the initial cemetery scene of this fic. I was lost. And for the terrific beta, too! :-)

THANK YOU

Author's Note: Please forgive any geographical inconsistencies in this work. The only things I know about Canarsie are what I read at Wikipedia. :-) It is located in Brooklyn, and was settled in the 1920's by Italians.

--

Alex Eames drove as fast as the weather would allow. She needed to find her partner, needed to know he was OK. At least physically. She pulled up outside the gates of the cemetery where Frances Goren had been buried, a year ago. Stone angels spread their wings in front of her, inviting her to step within their gated iron fences.

Eames pulled into the lot, and saw her partner's car before she saw him. The vintage Mustang sat, parked askew in the lot, forgotten in the rain. At least Goren still had the convertible top up when the rain started. She doubted he'd have thought of it, after-the-fact. She thought absently that Lewis would have been upset if all the custom upholstery had been ruined.

She walked through the gates and onto the sacred ground within, and caught sight of her partner. He knelt forlornly in front of a tombstone that Eames knew must be Frank's. It was right next to their mother's. And Frank's father's.

Goren was oblivious to the wind, the rain, the remnants of a tropical storm working its way up the eastern seaboard. Eames remembered the name of the storm, Fay. Why did she remember that useless fact? She didn't even remember what DAY today was.

Eames went to stand by Goren. His head was bowed, the water rushing in rivulets from his salt and pepper curls. His lightweight jacket was already soaked through.

She laid a hand on his shoulder, but he did not react to her presence.

"Bobby."

He looked slowly up at her. His tear-streaked face and his rain-drenched scruff told the tale of the past few days as clearly as did the dark rings beneath his eyes.

The rain eased up as Eames knelt beside him, and she felt the sadness radiating from him in waves that were almost palpable. She took one of his long, slender hands in both of hers.

"Let's get you home, Bobby."

Goren looked at Eames as though seeing her for the first time. He rocked back and sat on his heels, but made no other move.

"It's not gonna do you any good to make yourself sick," she pursued. Though she knew that the rain couldn't _**make**_ him sick. And that he couldn't care less if he was sick or not, not now. Not anymore.

"I just - I can't..." Goren's words were muffled and would have made no sense to anyone else. Eames knew he wasn't able to deal with all that had happened, not yet... She leaned toward her partner, and pulled his head to her shoulder. And felt his shoulders heave as he cried into her coat.

She put her arms around him, and held him until his breathing relaxed, and he sniffed several times. Eames released her hold on him then, and looked into his sad brown eyes. How much could one man take? Her partner had had a year that could break a normal man, and he was anything but normal to start with... "C'mon, you need to get dry," she said softly.

Standing up, and then pulling gently on Goren's arm, she got him to stand up. She led the way back to her car, deciding that she would send Mike Logan or Lewis back for Goren's car later.

Goren walked without protest, slightly behind his partner, like a child being led away to pre-school for the first day. He looked lost, Eames reflected, as she opened the passenger door and he folded himself into her car. Gone was the intense anger she had seen in Rodgers's exam room. Gone was the righteous indignation at Ross - and her - when he found himself a suspect in his brother's death. But in their place was... nothing. A complete lack of any emotion, save for sadness.

Eames shut his door, and got into the driver's seat. After she started the engine, she put the blower on warm, even though it was not cold outside, because Goren sat shivering beside her. She fastened his seat belt and then hers, and drove to his apartment building in the Bronx.

He stood in front of his apartment door, just as he'd stood outside her car door. Like he didn't know what to do next. Eames used her key to unlock the door, and he meekly followed her in.

She led her partner into his room, and went through into the master bath, turning the shower on and adjusting it as hot as she could tolerate it.

She went back to find Goren sitting on the bed, idly trying to remove a shoe. She helped him take his shoes and socks off.

"I've got a warm shower running for you, OK?" Eames motioned to the bathroom door. "I'll get some dry clothes out for you."

Goren nodded wordlessly, and went into his bathroom, closing the door softly behind him. Eames laid out a brown t-shirt and a pair of jeans, and then went into his kitchen to make him some coffee.

Goren padded out a bit later, barefoot but wearing the clothes she'd laid out for him. He sat down at the kitchen table, and warmed his hands on the mug of coffee Eames put before him.

Eames was at a loss as to how to bring "her" Goren back, to get him to return to the land of the living. She thought maybe a drive through his old neighborhood might trigger some happier memories for him than the ones weighing on him now...

Goren didn't agree or disagree with her idea, and after their coffee was finished, and he had put shoes and socks on, she went with him out to her car.

Eames drove unhurriedly through Goren's former neighborhood of Canarsie, in Brooklyn. She remembered an old Zappa tune that began: "Canarsie. Where everyone looks the same." That certainly couldn't be said anymore. The people on the streets were nearly as diverse as in most other areas of New York.

She went up and down the tree-lined streets with their quaint houses squatted next to each other. The houses had certainly seen better days, but here and there were buildings that looked much the same as they probably had when Bobby was growing up.

She turned to her partner, surprised that he was smiling, just a little. "What?" Goren pointed to a corner bodega. "That was Vincenzo's Five and Dime when we lived here. Frank and I used to come down to get lemon ice's after we played basketball."

After a couple more blocks, a larger building dominated one side of the street. She heard a contented sigh from her partner as they passed the Brooklyn Public Library. "I bet you spent a lot of hours _there_ when you were young," she remarked.

"Yeah, yes I did," Goren's voice sounded more like himself the further they drove. Another larger building with a 6 foot fence encircling a huge back lot came into view. The sign read, "Canarsie Auto Salvage and Sales".

Goren pointed. "That's where Lewis started - where he got his start working on cars. The owners would let him help, even when he was still young. After school, on weekends, you know."

Eames smiled at her partner. Even Robert Goren had _some_ happy memories of childhood that remained untainted by his fathers - biological and legal. She was about to turn another corner when she felt Goren's hand on her arm. He was pointing to a covered porch, where an elderly lady sat on an antique glider.

Eames parked in front of the house, and Goren got out of the car and walked slowly up the steps, not noticing or caring if his partner was behind him or not. When he reached the porch, the elderly woman stood and gave him a long hug. She was frail-looking, and her stooped appearance was only accentuated by Goren's height.

Eames wasn't sure if she should follow or not, but she wanted to see if this visit would help him, so she walked up the steps behind him, and introduced herself to the older woman.

"Edith Giordano," the old woman extended her hand. "Any friend of Bobby's is a friend of mine." Eames took a seat in a stiff wicker chair on the porch, and Goren joined Mrs. Giordano on the padded glider.

"Bobby, you look so tired," the woman turned her attention back to Goren. "Have you been sleeping alright?"

Goren shrugged his shoulders and smiled at the woman, despite his mood.

"I heard about your brother," Edith continued. "I'm so sorry I couldn't make it to the funeral. Most of the old neighbors have moved away, and I couldn't find a ride."

"That's fine, Mrs. Giordano. I understand," Bobby gave her another half-hearted smile.

"Please, call me Edith. You're not my little neighbor boy anymore," the older lady smiled. "Your mother used to talk about you and Frank all the time, God rest her soul..."

Bobby raised his head then, and looked at the woman more closely. "I don't - She talked about **both** of us?" he asked.

"Oh heavens, yes! She was always talking about Frank, how he was going to be a brilliant scientist, as long as he didn't end up an alcoholic like his father..."

_"Like __**his**__ father,"_ Goren thought. _"Not like __**my**__ father."  
_  
He smiled at the withered woman beside him. "She was very fond of Frank."

"Not just Frank," the woman went on. "When you joined the Army, and then NYPD, it was _**all**_ she would talk about when we got together. Bobby got this award, and Bobby got a promotion. Of course, towards the end, she didn't remember much..."

Bobby nodded in understanding.

"But when the family still lived in the neighborhood, all the mothers were so envious of Frances, with her handsome son who went off and joined the Army."

"I wasn't the only- lots of others joined," Goren interjected.

Edith went on as if uninterrupted. "Your brother wished he could have joined when you did, did you know that?"

Goren shook his head, speechless.

"Yep. Frank went to the draft board himself to argue, when they told him he was too flat-footed or some other such nonsense. How he wanted to be like his little brother Bobby. He spoke of you all the time."

Goren was beyond surprised. He was learning about a side of Frank he'd never known existed.

"And then you came home, when your mama was sick," Edith continued, "and you were always there to take care of her, even after Frank was caught up in gambling and drinking, like your father."

Goren's eyes teared up a bit, and he lowered his head to hide them from the older woman, from Eames. He hadn't known that anyone knew the _real _story of his adult life.

"You were a good son, Bobby Goren," Edith finished. "A good boy. Your mama never saw that, not near the end, but she knew it until then."

Goren nodded. His smile became less forced and more genuine. So his mother _had_ approved of him, in her own way. He looked across the porch to see Eames smiling, as well. A fog lifted from his shoulders, and he sighed.

"Would you two like some lemonade?" Edith asked.

"No, but thank you," Goren replied. "We need to be getting back..." He hugged the woman where she sat, before she could get up again. "Take care, Mrs. Giordano."

"You do the same, young man," Edith replied. And to Eames, "Nice to meet you!"

Eames waved and smiled as they walked down the steps and back to the car. They sat in silence for a few moments.

Goren broke the silence. "Thank you," he stated simply.

"For what?" Eames asked, curious.

"For everything. For driving me around, for keeping me from catching pneumonia..."

"No problem," Eames smiled back.

"That's not all," Goren continued. "I was - I know you had my back during this whole investigation, even though Ross _had_ to look at me as a suspect. I know I didn't show it at the time, but I appreciate it."

"Anytime," Eames answered. "And..."

"Yeah?" Goren asked.

"It's good to have you back." Goren sighed and cast off some of the gloom that had plagued him for the past week. "How about a hoagie? I know this great place just a few blocks away."

Eames smiled. Goren being hungry was a good sign, a good sign indeed. This week had been a horrendous one for him, but she knew he could make it back, with her help.

end


End file.
